


you've got your demons (darling they all look like him)

by superstarrgirl



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: M/M, and narry too but they're side pairing, it is not a happy story I'm sorry, it was going to be but nothing really turns out like it plans, louis backstory too but probably deathly inaccurate, probably doesn't even make the slightest bit of sense, x factor speakings and louis being irresponsible with niall
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-24
Updated: 2014-01-24
Packaged: 2018-01-09 19:58:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,062
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1150163
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/superstarrgirl/pseuds/superstarrgirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>'If Zayn’s being perfectly honest, Louis was the one Zayn was dreading the most'</p><p>Or,</p><p>Zayn's in love with Louis, Louis might be in love with Zayn, everybody knows it but them, they're too different to even work, and they don't, so it's a tragic ending to a beautiful love affair</p>
            </blockquote>





	you've got your demons (darling they all look like him)

**Author's Note:**

> Hiiiiiiiiiiii. i wrote a zouis, which is something I was 99% sure i was never going to write. But here you go. It was going to be a nice ending, but then I decided to just write the finish and not even bother with happiness, because why would I write a happy ending?! Me? Never! So, enjoy, and if you do let me know! Also, if anybody knows any good like, Niall-centric stories, I'd really love to read them! Thanks! xx.
> 
> Title comes from sad beautiful tragic by taylor swift

They’re a band of five, four boys that Zayn only knows vaguely, faces that walk past him and chatter loudly in his ear, faces that he watches dance as yet another reminder that he’s not good enough, will never be good enough, he’s never going to measure up to what Simon wants from him. All Zayn’s really certain of when they’re stuck together is two things: their names being the first, and the second that this could either go really, really well or really, really bad.

Simon sends them to a conference room to discuss options and a band name (that doesn’t happen, big surprise), and the moment they get there the blond with the thick accent looks around and asks the closest person for food. Once the blond is satiated, eating a bag of crisps, they sit around the table in silence, sizing each other up.

Next to Zayn is a tall, gangly boy with a head of brunette curls and the most hauntingly green eyes he’s ever seen. He’s only young, 16 or so, but Zayn remembers his audition, knows he’s got a pretty good voice. Across from them sits the blond, Niall, who’s Irish, skinny as can be with wonky teeth and a bright, incredibly genuine smile. Zayn remembers seeing him at boot camp, looking as lost as Zayn felt but trying his hardest to learn the complicated steps, and Zayn remembers thinking they could be friends.

Sitting on Niall’s right is a chocolate haired and chocolate-eyed boy with a bowl cut and a slightly apprehensive look about him, a warning in his eyes that Zayn can’t quite place. Zayn also remembers his audition, and if the way he sang that Michael Buble song is anything to go by, he’s got a knock-it-out-of-the-park voice. Liam, if Zayn recalls. And at the head of the table, looking like he belongs there is a boy with a similar haircut to Liam’s, but with electric blue eyes and a wicked yet endearing curve to his lips, and two thoughts dance across Zayn’s mind. One, this boy looks like a pixie.

Two, oh _no_.

Zayn’s dealt with boys like Pixie his whole life – boys who think they’re something great, who are loud and obnoxious and bordering rude, who carry themselves with arrogance and confidence, just ooze it. Zayn, having always been a quiet and reserved kid, more into arts than footie or soccer – and he’d bet Pixie plays one or both – was always the butt of their jokes, always the one who ended up with food dumped on his head or always the one who the loud snickers were directed to. Auditioning for X-Factor was supposed to get him away from those types of boys, not throw him into a band with one!

“Right!” Pixie says, clapping his hands to call order. There are only five of us, not a whole board meeting, Zayn thinks bitterly to himself, turning to mutter something to Harry. But Harry’s staring up at Pixie, totally enamored, and Zayn can’t help but see what the fuss is about. He’s attractive, no doubting that, but not really Zayn’s type. He’s got soft cheeks and a wide grin that causes his eyes to crinkle, dusty-brown hair pushed under a beanie, bright blue eyes much like Niall’s, but different. Niall’s are more…more calmer, clearer. Pixie’s eyes look like a storm, constantly changing color, shifting.

“We’ve been put in this band. And we’re going to make it work, because I don’t know about you but I do not want to get kicked out.” Pixie stares at them all in turn, eyes hard, and as Zayn’s and Pixie’s eyes meet, Zayn suddenly sees it, shining through, the way Pixie’s fingers curl against his side, the determined set of his eyes.

 _Maybe we’re not as different as I thought_ , Zayn thinks to himself as Pixie’s eyes move to Harry.

-

They’re different. More different than Zayn could have predicted. Unbelievably so.

Well, they’re all different from each other, and that’s what makes them work as Harry has pointed out numerous times. But Louis and Zayn, they’re nothing alike, and that causes a pretty big riff between them for a while.

Louis is loud and energetic, always looking on the brighter side of life, ready for jokes and 3-in-the-morning walks, always planning something in his twisted little mind.

Zayn is quiet, brooding, slightly moody all the time, preferring to stay in and read a book than go out and get drunk, no matter how much Niall pleads and begs, and even when Liam agrees Zayn still refuses. Zayn enjoys solitude and peace, always has, whereas Louis constantly needs to have people around him, needs socialization and constant motion to breathe.

Which is why it doesn’t really surprise anyone when Zayn and Louis finally explode.

It’s five in the morning, and Zayn is asleep when the door is thrown open and Louis stumbles in with Niall holding him straight, gently cooing to him to be quiet, you’ll wake the house Lou, please _shut up_. Niall doesn’t sound drunk, just tired, but Louis is completely off his ass. “Why be quiet, Ni? It’s not that early, is it?” His words are slurred, there’s a muffled thump and a loud swear, and Harry on the bottom bunk groans and rolls over.

“Go to bed, Lou.” Harry mutters, voice stifled into a pillow, and Liam groans his agreement.

“I’m not tired, young Harold!” Louis almost shouts, and Niall has to clamp a hand over his mouth to quiet him. When Niall takes his hand away, there’s a moment of silence and Zayn thinks he might be able to get some sleep, but then Louis starts singing a very warbled and shaky rendition of ‘You Belong With Me’ by Taylor Swift, and Zayn can’t do it anymore.

He sits up and turns to glare at Louis and Niall – Louis looks drunk, with flushed cheeks and bright eyes, leaning against the single bed with Niall holding one of his arms. Niall looks tired, eyes heavy, like a father who’s been looking after a child too long. “Would you, please, shut the fuck up?” Zayn hisses to Louis across the small space, leaning over the railing of the bunk.

Louis blinks in shock, even Niall raises an eyebrow slightly, but the poor boy looks so tired he could sleep standing up. “Excuse me?” Louis asks, lowering his tone an octave dangerously, the way he does when a fan says something particularly nasty or when Zayn mutters something under his breath.

“You heard me. Shut up. It’s five in the goddamn morning and some of us are trying to sleep.” Zayn can feel anger bubbling through his veins, staring down at Louis, stupid Louis who kept Niall out till 5am and that’s just not fucking right because Niall is only 17 and he can’t do that, can’t be expected to get home at 5 and sleep for three hours and then get up and take on the world. That’s not fair, Louis ought to know better. “So, if you’d kindly shut up and go to bed, that’d be really great, thanks.” Zayn pulls the covers up around his ears and buries into the sheets again, rolling away.

“You’re a fucking ass, you know that.” Louis says behind him, and then suddenly there’s a weight on his chest and Louis Tomlinson is kneeling on him – _kneeling_ , both knees on Zayn’s chest, poking at his face.

“Get off me, you weirdo!” Zayn shouts, bucking his hips off the bed, trying to unseat Louis, because he certainly isn’t a lightweight and Zayn’s finding it hard to breathe.

“C’mon guys, it’s early, go to…go to…” Niall yawns, and when Zayn turns his head he sees Niall flopped on the single bed, mouth open as he snores, out like a light.

Zayn turns back to Louis, even more enraged. “He’s 17 years old! You can’t keep him out so late!” He whispers darkly, and Louis scoffs nastily, the alcohol on his breath so strong Zayn almost gags.

“It was his suggestion, he wanted to go! So I took him!”

“But you should have been back by midnight! He’s a baby! I can’t believe you’d be so irresponsible with him like that!” If Zayn isn’t seeing things, there’s a flash of regret in Louis’ eyes, like he might see what he’s done wrong. Zayn plows on. “You’re the oldest goddammit, you’re supposed to be at least _sort of_ smart and responsible, you have to look after him, he’s 17 goddamn years old, you can’t do that to him.” Louis is still kneeling on Zayn’s chest, but suddenly his eyes are bright blue and incredibly pissed off again.

“I don’t need to do anything. For anyone. I don’t need to look after anyone in this band, you should be old enough to do it yourselves, I’m not your mum.” Their faces are so close together, Louis panting, his chest rising and falling heavily, heart beating in time with Zayn’s, and if Zayn wasn’t so angry he might find this incredibly weird. Louis suddenly blinks and then moves off Zayn as though shocked, sliding off the bunk and to the floor, where he makes his way to the door. 

Just before he leaves, Zayn shouts after him, “If you don’t think you need to do anything for anyone, why are you in the band?” Louis hesitates in the doorway, fingers curling against his legs. When he turns to Zayn, it’s with eyes so dark and heavy and full of fire that Zayn draws back involuntarily. 

“I don’t know.” Louis responds quietly, and then he’s gone.

-

If the others boys thought the fight was an odd occurrence, none of them say anything. In fact, one night when Zayn is having a late-night snack in the kitchen, rummaging through the cupboards to find something worth eating, he turns around with a bag of crisps in his hands and sees Liam sitting cross-legged on the counter, eating yogurt.

“Hey.” Liam says, lifting the spoon to his lips. 

“Hey.” Zayn eventually replies, opening the bag and digging in. They eat in silence, simply enjoying each others’ company, until Zayn says, “You here to chew me out for the argument with Lou?”

Liam scrapes the bottom of the yogurt carton and then stands, dumps it in the trash, puts the spoon in the dishwasher and then faces Zayn. He shrugs, an eyebrow quirking. “Figured it was a long time coming.”

That’s it.

- 

Zayn and Louis are two sides of the same coin, and both of them intrigue Niall. Louis apologizes the day after the pub fiasco for being stupid and not taking Niall home when Niall had asked, and Niall simply ruffles Louis’ hair, shrugs and moves on. But Zayn. Zayn seems to hold a grudge on Niall’s behalf for two weeks, despite Niall telling him to simply let it go and not be stupid, to not be angry with your mate over something stupid.

When Niall had called Louis Zayn’s mate, Zayn’s eyes had darkened for a moment, the light coming back almost instantly, and Niall’s totally hooked as to finding out why.

“But like, what if they’re in love or something? Could totally be it.” Niall says to Harry one night after a performance when they’re sitting on the couch in the living room, a carton of chocolate ice cream balanced between them. They’re both digging in and enjoying themselves in the silence of the house.

Harry barks out a laugh, doing that thing with his curls where he tousles them and then pushes his fringe out of his face. It’s become a bit of a joke between the boys, that little move. “Zayn and Lou? In love? I don’t think so, Ni.”

“Why not?” Niall demands, pulling his spoon from his mouth with an obnoxious pop. 

Harry shrugs like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “They’re just too different.” He tells Niall. “Like oil and water. They don’t even get along as friends, how the hell are they supposed to get along as boyfriends?”

Niall cocks his head and stares at Harry through hard blue eyes, thinking about his next sentence. “Sometimes they might not get on as mates, but that’s only because they’re both scared of what they don’t have any choice in.” Niall says quietly, keeping his eyes trained on Harry, whose brow furrows as he replays Niall’s words in his mind. 

“You know.” Harry begins, confusion in his tone, “You may be onto something, my little Irishman.” Niall giggles quietly and curls up at one end of the couch with Harry at the other, the now-empty carton of ice cream on the coffee table. They fall asleep with their feet pressed against each other, and it’s nice.

When Louis wakes them up the next morning, Niall is sprawled on Harry’s chest, his head tucked under Harry’s chin, and as Niall blinks sleep away he can’t help but notice the way Louis glances at Niall and Harry wistfully, and then at Zayn, who’s making his way tiredly down the stairs, yawning and not wearing a shirt. When Louis turns around and catches Niall watching him with a raised eyebrow, Louis blushes and hurries into the kitchen, mumbling something about needing coffee.

 _I don’t think so, my ass._ Niall thinks to himself, prodding at Harry’s chest to wake him up.

-

They’re kicked out three weeks from the finale, and while they’re all heartbroken about it, Zayn is adamant about them staying together, even when Louis huffs and tells him that all good things must come to an end.

“The band is not over.” Zayn snaps. “We’ve gone through too much for it to be over just like that. And weren’t you the one who said that the band was going to work because you didn’t want to get kicked out?” He fixes Louis with a harsh yet triumphant stare, copper eyes dancing. 

Louis rolls his eyes with so much enthusiasm Zayn’s surprised they don’t roll out of his head and onto the floor of the bedroom. “Well, _yeah_ , but the band is over now. We got kicked out, they didn’t like us. Just move on, I know I’m going to. See if my old job at Toys ’R’ Us is still available.” Louis is playing it off as a joke, but Zayn sees the way his eyes shine through everything his mouth isn’t saying. Louis doesn’t want to move on, Louis doesn’t want to let go. Louis wants to hold on tight with both hands. Louis doesn’t want this band to get away from him as easily as he’s letting on.

“Jesus Christ, Louis!” Zayn shouts, throwing his hands up in the air. “Why do you have to be so goddamn stubborn? You like the band; you don’t want to leave the band, stop being a fucking wuss and admit it!” Louis looks slightly taken aback at Zayn’s words, but Niall leans in to Harry’s side and whispers something while Liam just sighs and runs a hand through his mop of brunette curls.

“Because…” Louis starts, and then trails off.

“Is it because you’re scared?” Zayn presses ruthlessly, and Louis’ eyes snap up to his, bright blue and alive, electric, like lightning flashing across a stormy sky, and Zayn’ll be damned if he’s never seen more beautiful eyes. Wait.

_What?_

Louis jumps to his feet, all five and a half feet of him, snarls, “Don’t talk about things you don’t understand,” at Zayn and makes a big show of marching out, but just before he can reach the door Zayn has a tight grip on his wrist, ignoring the electricity that shoots up his spine at the sudden contact, the heat he feels crawl up his cheeks as Louis comes to a halt but doesn’t pull his hand from Zayn’s grip. His arm is warm, pale against Zayn’s tanned hand, and the two skin tones accent each other really nicely, Zayn notes numbly, before he thinks to himself, _stop it right now_.

“Don’t you dare walk out that door.” Zayn mutters darkly, his grip tightening on Louis’ wrist. Louis’ spine is rigid, held in place, and they’re so close together that Zayn can see the freckles on Louis’ neck, can smell him – sweet like burning sugar and vanilla – can hear him breathe in raggedly.

“Where else am I supposed to go?” Louis spits out, and if Zayn didn’t know any better he’d say Louis was crying, or about to. 

Zayn tugs on Louis’ wrist persistently until Louis turns and faces him with cloudy blue eyes, and Zayn can’t help the way his other hand comes up to cup Louis’ cheek. “You’re supposed to stay.” Zayn murmurs, there’s a heartbeat of silence, and then Louis manages a, “yeah, okay,” and buries his head in Zayn’s neck, tearing up. 

Niall, sitting in between Liam and Harry on the single bed, actually forces himself to look away. It’s such an intimate moment, more than just a hug between friends, and he feels like he’s intruding in on something truly beautiful, something truly magical. 

Something that looks a little bit like love. 

- 

It’s a really dysfunctional friendship, Louis and Zayn. But it’s a good one; one that Zayn doesn’t understand how he lived without. 

And goddammit, Zayn’s falling in love with Louis. 

-

They kiss – once, and only by accident. Kind of.

All five are drunk, high off the buzz from winning their first award at the Brits, Harry and Niall are dancing on the dance floor, grinding up against each other, and Liam is actually drinking despite his _one kidney_ , his childlike face flushed and chocolate eyes bright, his laughter ringing back to Zayn and Louis seated at the table. 

“He looks cute when he’s drunk – like a little turtle.” Louis slurs, pointing vaguely in Liam’s direction, and Zayn snorts. 

“A turtle with curly hair.”

“And doe-eyes.” 

“And freckles.” 

“With one kidney.” 

“And a birthmark.”

“Who looks like a poodle.”

“And needs to pull his pants up, he’s going to trip one day.”

They’re both cackling now, Louis with his head tipped back and Zayn with his face on the table, his shoulders shaking from the force of his laughter. “And he’s missing a foot, Niall chewed it off.” Louis gasps out, and Zayn starts to laugh proper now, not silently but a real, genuine laugh that fills up the space around him with energy. Neither of them can breathe, snorting and giggling and laughing. Zayn loves the way Louis looks when he’s laughing, with his head tipped back and his mop of a bowl cut obscuring his vision, young and wild and stupid and entirely _Louis_. Louis loves how Zayn lights up when he laughs, when the lines around his eyes and mouth disappear to be replaced by gentle crinkles at the corners of his eyes, like he could never be happier than in that moment. Most of all, Louis likes it when he can make Zayn laugh like that. 

There’s a lull as they both regain their composure, Zayn tossing back another shot of tequila and Louis staring down at the table, barely holding back a grin. When Zayn puts the drained shot glass back on the table, Louis half-whispers, “missing a foot, Niall too hungry.” And they’re both gone, laughing so hard they’re wheezing. Alcohol. Too much alcohol, Zayn thinks fuzzily. He doesn’t care. This is great, sitting beside Louis and laughing, enjoying each other’s friendships and jokes. Louis, he loves Louis. He just really, really loves Louis. 

Somewhere over the night, Zayn remembers dancing with faceless girls, even spinning a few tracks, the crowd shouting “DJ MALIK, DJ MALIK,” he remembers Niall shouting something in his ear, lips pressed so close to his skin, the name Louis reverberating around his head. He remembers seeing Louis on the dance floor, eyes bright as he dances with Liam, tripping over his own feet, and Zayn’s so disgustingly in love, not even sure of when it happened.

It happens when they’re walking – stumbling, really – home to Harry and Louis’ apartment, where they’re all staying for the week. Harry and Niall are up ahead, arms linked and singing ‘Call Me Maybe’ at the top of their lungs, walking into walls and bouncing right off, Liam laughing at them with eyes like pools of chocolate. Louis and Zayn are at the back, Louis clutching onto Zayn with a vice-like grip, and they’re so close together that Zayn can feel Louis breathe against him, feel the rise and fall of his chest.

“Zayn.” Louis suddenly mumbles as the other three make a left to the apartment/castle thing.

“Yeah?” Zayn questions, wrapping an arm around Louis’ waist to keep him upright. They stop walking at the corner, standing under a streetlight, there’s a warm hand on Zayn’s cheek, fingers digging into his cheekbone, Louis is turning his head and suddenly there are lips on his, a hand cupping the back of his neck, and Zayn’s _drowningdrowningdrowning_ in Louis, he can’t feel air in his lungs, can only feel Louis’ heart beating out a rhythm against his chest, perfectly in time.

Louis pulls away agonizingly slowly, eyes closed as though savoring the moment, savoring Zayn’s taste on his lips and in his mouth, savoring Zayn’s love crawling under the cracks in his armor, settling in the weak links. And then suddenly his eyes are wide open, his heart stuttering to a halt in his chest.

Oh god. Oh _no_.

Zayn’ staring at him with something Louis can’t quite put a name to – hatred, fear, rejection, maybe – and Louis draws away slowly, trembling. “I…” He starts off, curling and uncurling his fingers, pressing them into his thighs to stop the shaking. “I’m sorry.” Louis finally manages, shoving Zayn aside and running toward his apartment, running faster than Zayn’s ever seen him go, like if he runs faster than the speed of light, he’ll be able to leave Zayn and the kiss behind, leave the mistakes behind. 

That hurts more than Zayn really cares to admit. 

-

“They’re in love.” Harry says to Niall the next morning, looking into the living room where Zayn is flung across the couch, his mouth hanging open and drooling slightly, while Louis is on the opposite side of the room, curled in on himself, as far away from Zayn as humanly possible. When Louis had run into the apartment last night, he looked slightly frantic, and Harry had been about to ask what was wrong when Zayn came in, looking frazzled and a little upset, Louis’ eyes had all but exploded and he had thrown himself into a conversation with Liam, and Harry understood. 

Niall smacks Harry on the head with a spatula, eliciting a screech from the younger boy. “Told ya.” Niall grins.

- 

Louis writes Zayn a song, not that Zayn even knows it.

‘Same Mistakes’ is one of the few songs on the first album that all five write, together, and they are all told to reach back into their memories to their first love, when they thought everything was glorious and wonderful and they were floating, and then think about the moment they were brought crashing back to earth. 

Harry thinks about Caroline, Niall thinks about a girl named Amelia, Zayn thinks about Rebecca, Liam thinks about a girl named Elizabeth, and Louis pretends he’s thinking about Hannah, because that’s the right thing to do, when in reality he’s thinking about Zayn.

It’s midnight, and they’re spread out around a hotel room and working on the song – someone had emailed Louis the chorus and told them to make of it what they could, they’d regroup in the morning with the writers and work out the kinks. The five boys are tired but determined to get this done, both Niall and Harry with guitar in hand and Louis hunched over a piece of paper, pen in hand.

“It’s about, like, making mistakes, right?” Liam questions for maybe the 17th time in the past hour.

Louis rolls his eyes and says in a nasty voice, “Yes, Liam, as we’ve told you every time you’ve asked.” 

“Back off, would you?” Zayn immediately snaps, leaping to Liam’s defense, and while it pisses Louis off, the way Zayn jumps to protect everyone except him, it also does a pretty good job in shutting him up. Mostly.

“Yeah, you jump to his defense, like he can’t protect himself.” Louis mutters before he can stop himself, and when he looks up Zayn’s shooting daggers and Liam looks hurt, and the way his eyes shine cuts to Louis’ heart, and he really wants to apologize and tell Liam he didn’t mean it, but he is Louis Tomlinson and he does not apologize, even to Liam Payne with puppy-dog eyes, and he’s so damn tired he doesn’t care.

“Why do you have to be such an ass sometimes?” Zayn demands, Louis opens his mouth to retort when the paper is slid from underneath his fingers and the pen is plucked from his grasp. Niall sits back down, turns the guitar over and starts to scribble something furiously and hurriedly, like if he doesn’t do it in the next two seconds the thought will vanish. 

He isn’t writing for long, but when he holds up the piece of paper triumphantly, there’s a decent amount of words hastily scribbled in his chicken scratch. He gives it back to Louis and then sits back against the couch with a very smug and stupid smirk on his face that immediately throws Louis on the defensive. His eyes fly across the page, drinking in the words Niall has written, and – _oh._

_Wake up, we both need to wake up,_

_Maybe if we face up to this_

_We can make it through this._

_Closer, maybe we’ll be closer,_

_Stronger than we were before,_

_Make this something more_

It’s six lines, a total of 35 words, written in less than a minute at least, and Louis feels like he could just get up and kiss Niall because it’s so goddamn perfect. When he looks up at Niall with wide eyes, Niall’s staring back, eyes serene yet all-knowing, and it’s in that moment when Louis suddenly realizes, violently and earth-shatteringly, that Niall knows, knows how he feels about Zayn and yet hasn’t breathed a single word, preferring to sit back and watch. 

Well. 

-

It’s not that Louis refuses to play Same Mistakes on tour, he really doesn’t. He just doesn’t think it’ll go well with the set-list, how it’ll slow everything down. It honestly has nothing to do with the way his throat closes up whenever he sings it or the way Niall looks at him with those knowing eyes or anything.

Okay, yeah. He does kind of refuse. 

-

The second album shoots them straight to the top before any of them can realize. It’s also a perfect time for relationships in and out of the band to be developed. Management introduces Eleanor, who’s a wonderful girl with bright eyes and a gorgeous smile and a very genuine love of everything, and she makes Louis laugh until he cries and even though they’re only a publicity stunt, Louis can’t help the feeling that maybe there is something there, or could be anyway.

Zayn gets himself a girlfriend, a bird by the name of Perrie, who’s one quarter of the new up-and-coming girl group Little Mix. She’s a nice girl, Louis enjoys talking to her whenever they’re alone, he likes her purple hair and her nose ring. But it’s like someone presses something inside of him the moment he sees Zayn and Perrie together, and it’s just natural instinct to be nasty. 

Zayn isn’t exactly nice to Eleanor either, which is odd. Louis is allowed to be bitter and sarcastic – that’s part of who he is in the band. Zayn, however, as much as he’d like to think he’s Mr. Mysterious with tattoos who smokes, is the biggest softie Louis has ever met, so when Zayn first meets Eleanor and rolls his eyes at her – while she’s still standing in front of him – it pisses Louis off.

Louis and Zayn are closer now, trying to get over whatever is keeping them apart, mostly for Niall’s sake. They joke around and laugh and have fun while recording in the studio, doing synchronized dance moves, and it’s nice for both of them because it’s like in those moments they can forget exactly how they feel about each other and simply enjoy being best friends. 

-

They’re in Tokyo the second time they kiss, and this time it’s Zayn who initiates it. 

It’s late at night, but they’re all buzzing and high from the electricity of being on stage. Paul tells them they aren’t allowed to go to a bar, he doesn’t trust them at all anymore, complains about needing a raise but then kisses them all on the forehead and shuttles them into the minivans. It’s a common occurrence. 

Niall falls asleep in Louis’ lap, breath hot against the bare skin of Louis’ knees, and Louis can’t help but run his fingers through Niall’s blond hair, scratch his nails against the Irish boy’s scalp. He looks so little and tiny, his hands pressed into his chest and his face totally at peace. Louis wishes that Niall could stay like this forever, stay this little and innocent and loved. 

“He’s so cute when he sleeps.” Louis sighs, and Zayn, on Louis’ left, laughs softly.

“He is, isn’t he? Harry said he looked like a, what was it, a burrito, like.” Zayn says with a smile, staring down at Niall with affection burning in his eyes.

“A burrito.” Louis repeats, a smile breaking over his face. He does. A little Niall-burrito.

They’re silent for the half-hour ride to the hotel, Niall breathing deeply and lazily into Louis’ leg, Zayn leaning against the window and Louis just watching Tokyo go by. It’s a beautiful city, brightly lit and colorful, and Louis thinks to himself that he would love to explore the city, would love to explore the city with Zayn, watch Zayn’s eyes dance under the billboards, feed him food from the vendors that dot the street, kiss him in a coffee shop, hold his hand under the lights and –

Jesus Christ, stop it, Tomlinson.

When they pull up to the hotel, Louis shakes Niall awake, undoes the younger one’s seatbelt and lets him out first when Paul opens the door. The flash of cameras blinds them almost instantly, and Niall groans and rubs his eyes sleepily, gravitating toward Harry. Louis is halfway out the door when suddenly there are hands on his waist, he’s being turned and tugged back into the darkness of the car and Zayn has his lips pressed into his, burning and bruising, sweet like sugar. Louis jolts in surprise but doesn’t pull away, instead leans in and threads his fingers in Zayn’s hair, tugging lightly.

“Boys, c’mon. You need to get out.” Paul. Fucking Paul.

 

The world becomes a blur after that, smiling at fans crowded around the hotel, signing autographs, feeling the taste of Zayn on his lips. Zayn keeps giving him sly touches, secretive looks, and Louis is pretty sure he’s never felt so much love for one single human being in his entire life. Paul calls them all inside and they push into the silent hotel, herded into an elevator and up to the fourteenth floor, where the five spill out into the hall, Liam, Harry and Niall heading to the right, Niall and Harry ducking into the same room and Liam going to the one opposite – maybe there’s something between Niall and Harry, Louis thinks numbly – but then Paul is directing Zayn and Louis to the left, Louis stumbling hazily into his bedroom, the door slamming in his face. Zayn is right across the hall.

Zayn. Zayn. Zayn. 

Louis waits for five minutes, five minutes too long, staring through the peephole till the coast is clear, and then he’s slipping out the door – forgetting a key – and knocking on Zayn’s door until it opens, he slides through the small gap, closes the door with a click and is then crowded against it, the lock pressing into his shoulder blade, but he doesn’t care because Zayn is _right there_ , kissing him feverishly, tongue like a weight in Louis’ mouth. 

“I’ve waited so long for this.” Zayn pants into Louis’ neck, biting roughly. Yeah, me too, me too, Louis wants to say, but his words are swallowed in Zayn’s kiss.

Everything just sort of spirals from there. 

-

Louis wakes to Niall banging insistently on the door, demanding to know where Louis is, has Zayn seen Louis, _Zayn I swear to fucking god if you two got drunk last night without me I’m gonna blow my fucking top open this fucking door you little shit._

“Fuck off.” Louis grumbles, loud enough for Niall to hear but not loud enough to wake Zayn – an atomic bomb couldn’t wake Zayn, Louis has tried – there’s silence on the other side of the door, and then:

“HARRY!”

Louis laughs and rolls over, tucking himself back into Zayn to sleep.

-

When Louis was 7, his dad left. He doesn’t remember much of it, just his mum and dad shouting and him trying to protect Lottie from the screams, little baby Lottie with the mop of brunette hair and fearful blue eyes. He remembers rocking her in her crib, singing to her, his voice cracking dangerously and tears dripping onto her honey skin, seeping into her bones.

When Louis was 12, his mother stopped seeking the answer at the bottom of a bottle and started seeking it in Louis and Lottie and Fizzie. She got the help she needed, she pieced herself back together and grew to a mother, filled the job beautifully, and Louis knew that he should have been grateful and happy that he had his mother back. But he could never quite get over that feeling that settled in his stomach, like something bigger was looming overhead.

He was 18 when he auditioned for X Factor, with a bad fashion sense and an even worse ability of hairstyling. He wore beanies to cover up the mop that splattered atop his head, wore scarves, actual fucking _scarves_ and was put in a band with four boys who didn’t ask questions but who understood every single thing Louis didn’t say.

He told them about his parents after they lost X Factor, after Zayn convinced him to stay and after Zayn reminded him that he was loved and cherished and cared for. They sat around in the room, him curled up next to Harry, Harry pressed into Liam’s side, Zayn and Niall sat across from them with Niall on Zayn’s lap, and Louis had told them everything, about how his dad left and so did his mum, in a way. How she used to come home at 3 in the morning, drunk and smelling of sex, and how she’d sit in her bedroom and cry and Louis would try not to let his heart break because he had sisters that needed him. 

Zayn had looked at him with eyes so dark that Louis almost burst into tears, and Zayn had whispered, “but you needed your mum.” Louis had never quite been able to put words to how he felt about his mother leaving him. But Zayn had managed it. Louis burst into tears.

When Louis turned 20, he was supposed to be back in Doncaster, but weather was a fucking bitch and they all got trapped in New York City, crowded into a small hotel room and swapping gifts with one another. 

Zayn’s present was the last present he opened, and when he did Louis felt his heart stop. It was a necklace, a pendant suspended on a thin silver chain. The pendant was a disk, the size of Louis’ pinky nail, and it read ‘together’ in curly script. When he looked up, he saw the other boys holding similar boxes in their hands, Harry almost in tears. “So that when we aren’t together, at least we’ll still be together.” Zayn had said by way of explanation, ticking his head at his own pendant, which was held on his wrist as a bracelet.

Louis had given Zayn a wan smile and thought to himself; _maybe these ones will stick around. Maybe_ Zayn _will stick around_.

Louis was 21 when Zayn announced his engagement, three weeks after sleeping with Louis in Tokyo, and if Louis knew how to put words to the utter and heart wrenching pain he felt, he would have.

- 

Zayn had expected an explosion once the boys found out, had anticipated it. What he didn’t expect was Niall, sweet little Niall, walking right up to him, reaching out and snapping his hand across Zayn’s cheek.

“You asshole.” Niall hisses out, voice deathly low, sharp as a blade. Zayn’s cheek is stinging from the slap, his mouth open in surprise. “You absolute fucking asshole, Zayn Malik. Who the hell do you think you are?” Niall’s so angry, absolutely livid, his eyes dancing like fire under the low lighting of the bus. “He loves you, and he’s in that hotel in tears. That’s not even the worst part – you didn’t tell us?! We had to hear it from the goddamn media?! We’re your best friends, he’s been in love with you for two whole fucking years and I know you feel the same way, I know you slept with him, I know you love him so what in the hell makes you think you can pull some crazy-ass stunt like this and break his heart? Who the hell told you that you could do this? Because whoever it is needs their goddamn ass kicked!”

Zayn turns his face to look at Niall. He opens his mouth, tries to form words and sentences that could possibly heal everything he’s done. He draws up short. Niall’s glaring at him, so much hurt and anger burning in his eyes, and Zayn just wants to break down and cry. “I didn’t know how to tell you.” He says instead quietly, and watches as Niall’s features soften, his eyes glisten a little less harsh.

“Maybe you should have figured that out before you agreed. Zayn,” Niall sighs out, eyes heavy, and Zayn really doesn’t want to hear what’s coming, braces himself for the impact of Niall’s next words. “He’s so in love with you it’s painful. He’s up there sobbing and screaming, we don’t know what to do anymore. How could you do something like this to him?”

It’s a pretty good question.

-

Zayn sneaks into the hotel that night and sits outside Louis’ door – doesn’t knock, just sits and listens. He can hear muffled sobs, a low voice that sounds like Harry trying to comfort Louis, Louis screaming in response, voice growing louder and louder and louder until the sound fills Zayn’s ears and he might be screaming too, trying to drown out the pain, Liam slips out into the hallway and takes Zayn back to the bedroom and just rocks him back and forth like a child on his lap, Zayn sobbing into his best mate’s collar and wondering when the hell he let it get this bad.

- 

Louis doesn’t talk to him for two months.

-

The third album comes out, Zayn downloads it on iTunes, listens to every song Louis writes and tries not to cry. He does anyway, but he tries.

Harry calls him up the night of the release and just sits on the other end while Zayn listens, counts the beats in the songs he knows are meant for him, puts his head on his pillow and listens, cries, tries to forget just how truly bad he’s fucked up.

“He loves you, Zayn.” Harry says quietly once the album finishes. Zayn bites his lip, trapping it between his teeth. “It was always you. It was always going to be you.” Harry sounds like he might be crying too, and that hurts, cuts straight through to Zayn’s heart because Zayn knows that Harry feels the repercussions of Louis and Zayn not talking, Zayn knows they all feel the consequences of Zayn agreeing to marrying Perrie and not having the balls enough to stand up and say no.

“I had to make a choice.” Zayn chokes out, buries his face into his pillow, tries to stem the tears.

Harry’s silent for a moment. “You made the wrong one.” There’s the click of a dial tone and Zayn just –

Shatters. 

- 

Zayn and Perrie get married, and while they never really see each other and when they do spend time together it’s with cameras, Zayn grows to love Perrie’s company. He never loves her, not the way he loves – _loved_  – Louis, but it works.

The band breaks when Louis turns 25, and as upset as they all are, everyone knows it was a long time coming. Louis was disappearing, Harry was following, Liam was growing up, Zayn was maybe starting a family and Niall was just tagging along, not even bothering to save the group. 

The boys talk as often as they can – the last time Zayn talked to Niall, Niall was giddy and excited because Harry had just asked him on a date. Liam was planning on proposing to Sophia, telling Zayn down the phone that he’s never been happier. Perrie’s pregnant, and she looks at Zayn like he cups the world in his hands and Zayn might just be starting to look back the same.

Everything’s okay. Except Zayn hasn’t spoken to Louis in almost three years, and it’s his fault, he knows it is, but god it hurts so fucking much.

He gets a package in the mail, one day, when Perrie is upstairs taking care of the baby, who’s got Zayn’s skin color, his hair and Perrie’s eyes, an absolute dream. He opens it up, and he’s crying before he’s even aware of why. 

Sitting on the soft felt of the box is a silver necklace with a small pendant hanging off the bottom, the inscription fading the way it does when the letters have been rubbed too many times, the lettering disappearing.

There’s a message scribbled on the box –

_We all make choices. You made yours. Now I'm making mine._

{fin}


End file.
